In Essence Divided
by Licuma Lome
Summary: A story about the four founders of Hogwarts, their friendship, and their schism, the way I imagine it happened.
1. Chapter 1

_"'Naturally, naturally,' murmured Dumbledore apparently tohimself, still observing the stream of smoke without the slightest sign of surprise. 'But in essence divided?' ... The smoke serpent ... split itself instantly into two snakes, both coiling and undulating in the dark air. ... The clinking noise slowed and died, and the smoke serpents grew faint, became a formless haze, and vanished." --_Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_, p. 470, by J. K. Rowling_

* * *

Clouds skidded silently across the smooth bowl of the sky as if they were trying in vain to clean up the rest of the day for him, but he knew it wouldn't work. The events of the day were irreversible, as far as he knew, but, lying here in the high grass underneath this tree with the muddy creek winding blearily downstream, he could ignore it for a while. Turais, his white horse, slowly made his way around the field as if searching for some form of amusement that didn't come.

Godric Gryffindor had a lot to think about. His father had just informed him of his betrothal to a woman he didn't love, a woman he didn't even like. _Oh, it's not like she's terrible_, he tried to convince himself. _But she's just so… perfect._ She always did what her parents told her, she was perfectly lady-like, and her manners left nothing to be desired. Helga—_Helga,_ he thought disgustedly, _why must she be named Helga?_—was a hard worker, a kind young woman, and she was certainly intelligent and a capable witch. She was everything a member of the House of Hufflepuff should be.

But he didn't want her, not ever. Not if she was the only woman left in the entire world. Godric _would not_ marry Helga Hufflepuff. He twirled his wand idly, sending a soft stream of purplish-gray smoke swirling up into the air and watched it until it faded out into nothing but memory, then he yawned and sighed.

As if his stream of smoke had summoned his friend, a second young man rode up on a jet black horse and hopped off, running the remaining distance to speak to his friend. The black horse walked over and greeted Godric with a rather wet horse-kiss.

"Good afternoon, Ophiuchus," mumbled Godric, patting the horse. Then he turned to the man who had jumped off Ophiuchus. "Afternoon, Salazar, how're you?"

"Well enough," said Salazar Slytherin as he flopped down on the grass beside Godric. "Your father sent me to look for you. He's not pleased with you at all, Godric."

"And I'm not pleased with him. I've had a terrible day so far, and I sincerely hope yours has been better."

"Well, mine's been normal. What happened to yours?"

"I'm engaged."

"Oh? I didn't know that," said Salazar, looking rather hurt that his friend hadn't chosen to tell him so much earlier.

"Neither did I. Arranged marriage, just as a proper young wizard should have."

"To who?"

"Helga Hufflepuff." Godric let the words drop and lay flat as he continued to stare straight up at the sky.

"Well, she's not so bad, mate!" Salazar grinned and slapped Godric on the back. "Pretty enough, and she does like you quite a bit…"

"I _hate_ her," he said miserably. It wasn't true at all; he didn't hate her in the least. He was simply indifferent. "Anyway, she doesn't want to be married to me any more than I want to be married to her. She's had her eyes on Cepheus Black for as long as anyone can remember. Maybe I'll just run away and let her marry Black. I don't care two unicorn tail hairs what she does."

Slytherin shrugged and ran a hand through his long, messy black hair but otherwise gave no response, so Godric asked, "What about you, 'Zar, who're you getting engaged to?"

Salazar let out a short, harsh laugh. "Like my father cares. Ever since my mother … died, all he does is sit up in his astronomy tower and stare out at the stars. You know her name was Andromeda and that's the only star he'll ever look at." Godric knew well that Salazar didn't think much of his family. He hissed a soft melody, no more than a moment long, and then continued, "I don't much like the idea of getting married." By this time, a small grass snake had slithered up onto the dark man's hand in response to the short verse and Salazar raised his arm to look at it directly. He hissed softly to it and it hissed even more quietly back. Godric looked away. It made him uncomfortable when Salazar spoke to the snakes. He was the only one in the town who had the ability, and, as far as Godric knew, the only one period.

When the snake had gone on its way, the two young men let silence fall between them. It didn't matter; they'd been friends so long that silence seemed to them as natural as laughter. Godric watched Slytherin discreetly.

Salazar would never settle down and Godric knew it well. The House of Slytherin was known for its handsome men and beautiful women, every one of them as magical as dragon heartstrings, and Salazar, it seemed, had received all of the best traits. He had long, shining black hair and piercing green eyes that stood out dramatically from his pale, narrow face. Tall, lean, and handsome, he had received attention from women all of his life and was more knowledgeable of certain subjects than Godric feared he would ever be. Godric had never known a woman, but Salazar… Salazar Slytherin must have had at least ten, and Gryffindor knew it was just a matter of time before the current object of the Parselmouth's affections, the young and lovely Rowena, third daughter of the House of Ravenclaw, would become the eleventh.

"Well, mate," said Slytherin, getting to his feet, "if you decide to run away, I might come with you. If you don't mind me bringing Rowena along." He winked at his friend and then went on, "But right now, come back home. There's plenty of time for running away later in the day. Besides, what would you do if you ran away from here?"

"Start a magic school," Godric mumbled, and let Salazar help him to his feet.

"Remain a virgin for the rest of your life," laughed Salazar.

"Good. I'll be happy about that, anyway."

"You don't know what you're missing…"

Godric pulled himself up onto Turais and started back towards his home, leaving Salazar on Ophiuchus to catch up with him.

* * *

Rowena Ravenclaw was half-asleep when a young woman woke her up with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, Mercy?" she asked sleepily.

"Miss Helga Hufflepuff's here to see you, m'lady," said Mercy. She nodded to Rowena, who set aside the needlework she'd been falling asleep over, and left the room.

Helga hurried in and sat down beside her friend. "You won't believe what happened this morning, Rowena," she said in a rush.

"I bet I will," replied the youngest Ravenclaw. "Tell me anyway."

Helga began to tell her story as Rowena listened calmly. The Hufflepuff was upset; her round face was bright pink with emotion and her normally tidy blonde hair was flying out in wispy strands that made her look more than a little insane. Her pale blue eyes were round as goblets as she said, "My mother told me today that I'm to be married to Godric Gryffindor by Lammas this year and we went over to the Gryffindor manor this morning to see them and, oh, Rowena, I don't think he likes me at all and I won't be able to stand being married to him if he doesn't like me and I don't _want _to marry him in the first place and—"

"—And you're in love with Cepheus Black anyway," Rowena finished matter-of-factly.

Helga looked up at her friend suddenly. "What?"

"You're in love with Cepheus Black," stated the brown-haired girl. She grinned at the stricken look on Helga's face. "Yes, Helga, we all know about that."

"You do?" Helga looked crushed.

"Of course. I'm not stupid, dear," she said, her voice gentler now in response to her friend's obvious panic. "You talk about him more than anyone else." She paused. "And I don't blame you. He's very good-looking. Not as good as Salazar, mind, but pleasant enough." In Rowena's mind, no man could hold a candle to Salazar Slytherin. They looked similar enough from a distance, Slytherin and Black, both tall and thin with long black hair, but up close, Slytherin's face looked rougher, wilder, and Black's was more tame. And Rowena would bet anything she owned that Salazar was a better kisser, but she kept this to herself.

"Rowena!" Helga moaned. "What am I going to do?"

"Marry Gryffindor and have an affair with Black," she suggested.

Helga frowned. "I can't do that…"

"Why not? It's not as if Gryffindor really wants to marry you either."

"But it's just… You just don't do… I can't, that's all, Rowena. I can't marry him and I can't not marry him."

Rowena shrugged her narrow shoulders. "What if Cepheus asks your father if he can marry you? Would that help?"

"I don't know," replied Helga gloomily. She fiddled nervously with the fabric of her yellow dress. "My parents are quite insistent."

"You could always leave, you know," said Rowena carefully. She was supposedly betrothed to Albion Malfoy, but she had no intention of marrying him no matter what her parents said.

Helga had obviously remembered this, too, because she asked, "What are you and Slytherin going to do when Albion Malfoy tries to marry you?"

Rowena grinned and stood up. She walked over to the window in the attic where she'd been "working" and leaned against the frame, still smiling happily. She stared out it as she replied, "He says he'll ride by the wedding on that black horse of his and kidnap me right before we say our vows. Then he'll take me up north where no one will find us. And if he doesn't get me in time, he'll kill Malfoy and take me away under the pretense of comforting me after the loss of my dear husband." Both women sighed at the thought and then Helga stood up, straightening her skirt.

"Well, I said I'd be only half an hour. I ought to go home."

"Very well," said Rowena, coming back to herself. "Nice to see you again, Helga. Let me know if you think of anything."

Helga nodded and left the room, carefully pinning her hair back into place.

* * *

"I will not hear any more discussion of the subject," roared Averill Gryffindor to his son. Godric glared at his father.

"But if you'd just _listen_—" he tried, only to be cut off as his father slammed his fist on the table in front of him.

Gryffindor began pacing back and forth across the room. "This has been decided since you were four years old, Godric. I don't understand how you can object to this—Helga Hufflepuff is a responsible, charming, agreeable girl. What else could you want?"

"Father, I don't object to her. I just don't want to marry her," Godric said reasonably. "Do I have to get married?"

"Of course you do! You're my only son."

"But surely Freya will marry and have children to carry on the Gryffindor line?"

"Do not argue with me, Godric," shouted Averill.

The younger man turned and looked appealingly at his mother. She said quietly, "Do as your father says, son."

Godric looked at both of them furiously before storming out of the room.

* * *

Salazar was reading a book about ancient poisons when there was a loud knock on his door. With a deep, regretful sigh, he marked his place in the book, pushed his hair out of his face, and rose from the long table he had been leaning on to answer.

When he pulled the tall wooden door open, he saw Gryffindor standing there, soaked from the rain, his light brown hair plastered to his head and dripping.

"What is it, Godric?" he asked unenthusiastically. "I was reading."

"Sorry," said Godric shortly. "Can I come in, Salazar?"

"If you must," mumbled the taller man, and he stepped back to allow his drenched friend to enter. "What is it?" her repeated.

"I'm leaving, 'Zar."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm leaving. You said you'd come—will you?" Godric was grabbing fistfuls of his deep red cloak and wringing it out onto the stone floor.

Slytherin laughed. "You? Leaving here? When?"

"Now. Tonight. I'm packed already and Turais is waiting," Gryffindor snapped irritably. "Are you coming or not?"

Salazar looked around. The Slytherin house was large and empty tonight. Feoras, Salazar's father, was of course up in the tower with his books and his telescope, and the distance between them was far more than physical. This house, this town, this world didn't have much to offer him. Was there any reason for him to stay? He considered Godric's proposal, then nodded slowly. He said, "Not tonight, Godric. Go back home. Wait two weeks. There are things I need to take care of and prepare, but I will go with you. Just wait two weeks."

His friend glared at him. "I haven't got two weeks, 'Zar. We have to go now."

"Why? I hear you aren't to be married until Lammas," Slytherin replied smoothly.

Godric looked around, trying to think of an argument. Finally, he said, "You just don't want to leave tonight because you want to take Rowena with us."

Slytherin looked angrily at his friend and took an aggressive step forward. "Rowena would come with me tonight if I asked her. She is not the only thing to consider. I cannot just leave my father here alone—he will not take care of himself. There are complicated spells and potions I am working on now that must be finished or disposed of before I can leave this place! And you must let your family calm down or they will expect you to leave." He turned around and walked back to the adjoining room, picked up his book, and sat down. "Come back in two weeks," he said firmly, and left Godric standing by the door in a small puddle looking embarrassed and wet.

* * *

Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it! (Pointing hopefully at review button.)


	2. Chapter 2

It's been a long time, hasn't it? But this chapter's pretty long. Hope you like.

* * *

The village of Winding Creek had much to talk about over the next weeks. Godric Gryffindor, the magical prodigy of the known world, was getting married to Helga Hufflepuff, who was no Squib herself. It was to take place on the day of Lammas in mid-summer, and nearly everyone had been asked to attend. The preparations had been made by the families involved and were extravagant, even by wizard's standards, and Ronan Weasley was telling everyone who would listen that they had hired a choir of real, Mediterranean mermaids to sing during the ceremony.

The cake was an amazing creation of white sugar and butter that looked like it was (and probably actually was), supported magically, and there would be a seven-course meal as part of the reception. Flowers had been shipped in from all across Europe and had, from the looks of them, cost half the Hufflepuff family fortune. But the real masterpiece was Helga Hufflepuff's wedding gown. It was a staggeringly beautiful dome-shaped dress made entirely out of yellowish-cream silk that she would wear with a ten-foot long train and a pale yellow veil to cover the bright blonde hair that was to be worn high up on the crown of her hair.

So it was that the town was in a state of shock on the morning of the wedding when, to everyone's immense surprise, the bride and groom didn't arrive.

It wasn't as if they were merely late, or had become nervous and were delaying too long in walking down the aisle of the church. It wasn't as if young Godric and Helga were trying to build suspense by coming in ten minutes past the beginning of the ceremony. No, they were simply lost. No one in the village could find them, even after searching "The Glen," which was the Hufflepuff family manor, and "Valley Broad" (the Gryffindor residence), and after thoroughly questioning "that Cepheus Black," who everyone was suddenly quite suspicious of for reasons unknown to him. The villagers were so busy and so frantic calling their names and searching for them that no one seemed to notice that Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin also seemed to have gone on holiday, and it was not for another three days that anyone, including their parents, thought to get worried.

By the time it was established that the young pair had simply run off, the four of them were in London.

* * *

Yes, they had _all_ gone, with much relieved sarcasm on Rowena's part and overwhelming worrying on Helga's, for she had been dragged along forcefully by Rowena and Godric, who insisted it was for her own good. Salazar had done his best to persuade the two of them to let her stay, explaining as kindly as he could that, if she was brought along, he'd "go mad by the end of the first hour, hex her halfway into oblivion, then bring her back, spear her on my sword, and roast her slowly until she's golden-brown."

Godric had told him equally kindly to shut the goddamned hell up and spend the ride thinking of inns in London they might be able to stay at.

* * *

In the end, they had chosen a tiny, dark place called "The Drunken Cherry." Rowena liked it because it was cheap; Godric for the simple reason that it was not The Leaky Cauldron; Helga because it meant an end to the dreadful day of riding; and Salazar because the ale was cheap and the innkeeper's wife very pretty. Slytherin being the best at bargaining, they sent him in to get rooms while the rest tended four very displeased horses.

The stables were not pleasant, so the three of them worked themselves into extremely foul moods inside. Rowena had her pale, golden mare, Layne, tended to quickly, so she was assigned the task of taking care of Ophiuchus, as well. Gryffindor did well enough with Turais, but Helga spent forty-five miserable minutes trying desperately to coax Acacia to do as she was told. Finally, Godric shouted, "Are you a witch, or not? Pull out your wand and do it the easy way!"

"But magic scares—" began Helga, but Rowena swooped over to her agitated friend and whispered, "Go along with him, love. Just let him think he's won. At least until we get out of this dunghole."

So Helga magicked Acacia calm and finished the job. The three of them then emerged into the dazzling sunlight to find Salazar leaning against a wall of the inn, casually talking to a young woman who looked as though she'd just been Stunned. Rowena scowled at him and pulled out her wand, but before she could aim it at him, Helga had it from her and said, "Don't hex him, Rowena. Remember, we have to live with him for the next Christ-knows-how-long."

"I was only going to give him a few warts, Helga… Come on, give my wand back—Hi, Salazar." They had arrived in front of him.

"Hello, Rowena. Did you take Ophiuchus—"

"Yes, of course. Who's your friend?" she added icily, glaring at the girl to whom he'd been speaking.

Slytherin smirked at his girlfriend. "This is Saeran Kettledore. She works in Eyelop's Owl Emporium down the street. Saeran, these are Rowena Ravenclaw—" Rowena nodded stiffly to Saeran, "—Godric Gryffindor—" Godric bowed, "—and Helga Hufflepuff."

"Nice to meet you!" chirped Helga. Salazar made a face behind her back.

The girl, who couldn't've been more than sixteen, had flaming red hair and the greenest eyes Godric had ever seen. "Salazar was just telling me—"

"—About how we're planning to start a magic school in the north," finished the black-haired man quickly. "And about, um…" Saeran opened her mouth in confusion, but Godric saw Slytherin step on her foot.

"Oww!" she said instead. "Why'd you do that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," snapped Slytherin impatiently.

Rowena glared at both of them. "Oh, yes, I'm sure you were talking about magic schools. Just like Godric and I were talking about eloping."

"You what?" gasped Helga. Saeran looked highly interested and asked, "Are you really?"

"No!" said Godric loudly. "Now, if you'll excuse us, Miss Kettledore, we have things to discuss. Goodbye." And he grabbed Salazar's shoulder and Rowena's arm and steered them away to the back of the building. Helga ran after them, grumbling, "Will you people _please _make an effort to be somewhat normal for once?"

"This coming from you?" Salazar asked under his breath.

"Shut up, all of you," snapped Gryffindor, glaring around until they all fell silent. "Thank you. Now, Salazar, did you manage to get rooms for us all in between chatting up girls?"

"I did, as a matter of fact, and I _wasn't_ chatting up anyone," he retorted sourly. "I got three on the top floor."

"Oh, lovely," said Rowena. "One for me, one for Helga, and you two will graciously share the third, allowing us refined and proper ladies our own rooms? How thoughtful of you, Sal—"

"No, one for Godric, one for Helga, and one for us," interrupted Slytherin with a wicked grin.

Rowena sighed and covered her forehead with a pale hand. "And I go from 'refined and proper lady' to 'promiscuous and filthy whore' in twelve seconds flat. Thank you, Slytherin," she muttered.

"You're not a whore until you sleep with a few others, too," Godric reminded her cheerfully.

Helga, however, squared her shoulders and faced Slytherin, drawing her wand. Salazar eyed it warily. She _was _quite a good witch, even if he didn't want to admit it. "Get your bags and move them into a room with Godric," she instructed.

"Yes, mother," he snapped.

"Thank you," Helga said with a calm smile. "Rowena? Shall we?" She gestured towards the stairwell and the women made their way up to their rooms, leaving their friends where they were.

"She's quite forceful when something needs to be done, no?" said Godric, almost admiringly.

Slytherin mumbled something unintelligible which may have contained the words "conceited bitch," but picked up his bags anyway and stalked off into the inn.

* * *

The Drunken Cherry was owned by a short, stubby little man called Zotico Dertwitch and his pretty wife Auva. It was very dim and very small but clean enough and serving more than passable food in abundance. The three large rooms on the ground level were used as a kitchen, a bar, and a dining room, all of which were packed to the bursting point with people of all descriptions the night the four friends arrived. The dining room was inhabited mostly by old witches and large, harassed-looking families with many small children and a pile of wailing infants, while the bar was jammed full of wizards, hags, dwarfs, a severely intoxicated centaur, and ten or twelve women of less-than-glowing repute. And Rowena Ravenclaw, of course, who was deep in conversation with an ancient warlock with a floor-length white beard, a flashing purple and green pointed hat, and a passion for blowing neon-colored smoke rings. Through these rooms and the piping hot kitchen darted a minuscule house-elf dressed in a ragged old blanket pinned around itself.

True, Auva Dertwitch was beautiful, but she was also a shrew and Godric got to know her voice painfully well over the three-and-a-half hours he spent with Rowena and Salazar in the bar. (Helga had refused to go down, saying, "You'll all just get filthy and drunk and Rowena will probably be raped. But have fun being idiots"—they'd assured her they would.) Mrs. Dertwitch spent a third of her time shouting at her husband, a third of the time shouting at the residents, and the rest bellowing out orders to the overworked house-elf, who turned out to be called Briar Whipcrick, though Godric wouldn't have known it if it hadn't been for the roughly forty-seven people calling out said name at any given time.

So it was in this environment that Godric was forced to think his decision through. There was still time to turn back, to return to Winding Creek and marry Helga, after all… He finished his butterbeer and called Mrs. Dertwitch over.

"What do you want, lovie?" she demanded in a slightly lowered voice that was still deafening.

"Another butterbeer," he said.

She cupped her hand around her ear, roaring over the crowd, "You'll have to speak up, dear!"

"Another butterbeer!" he shouted at the top of his voice.

"Beer?" she yelled back, her face only a few inches away from his.

Godric held up his empty bottle. "BUTTERBEER."

"RIGHT," she called, then turned around and screeched, "BRIAR WHIPCRICK, GET YOUR LAZY BONES IN THIS BAR RIGHT NOW. AND BRING A BUTTERBEER FOR THE GENTLEMAN IN RED."

"As subtle as a bludger in a china shop," Godric mumbled.

"WHAT'S THAT, DARLIN'?" Auva bellowed in his face.

"I SAID, THANKS," he shouted, and turned away, rolling his eyes. Thirty seconds later, he felt a sharp tug at the hem of his scarlet robes and looked down to see the beleaguered house-elf at his feet.

"Here is sir's butterbeer, sir," squeaked Briar, handing it up. Gryffindor accepted it, saying, "You look exhausted, elf."

"Briar Whipcrick is always tired, sir! Briar Whipcrick is always working for Miss Auva, sir!" And the house-elf scampered off to tend to the other fifty men and women who were calling him.

* * *

Meanwhile, Helga was talking to Auva's husband, Zotico. "Haven't you got any clean sheets?" she was asking desperately.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," said the little man, running his fingers through his thinning black hair. "But a scouring charm will have to do until Briar and Auva have time. If you like, I can—"

"No, no," she murmured. "It's fine, I can do it myself. Thanks." Helga closed the door to her room with a soft click and sank down into the hard wooden chair nearby. "All I can say is, we'd better move along quickly."

* * *

Two hours later, Salazar Slytherin wound his way unsteadily up the stairs and into the room he was sharing with Godric. Gryffindor made his face at his slightly inebriated friend, whose emerald robes were wrinkled and stained with substances Godric had no desire to identify. Slytherin sank down onto his bed, combing his midnight-black hair through his fingers. "Gods," he said, grinning. "I hope we can stay here for a while."

* * *

Review? Please?


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